


Rest Your Hopes On My Lips

by pourlevenin



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Depression, Frerard, High School AU, Homophobia, M/M, Nonbinary Gerard Way, This is queer af, Trans Frank Iero, Transgender Frank Iero, Transphobia, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, background petekey, petekey, self-harm mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pourlevenin/pseuds/pourlevenin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't call me that," he muttered, almost too quick to catch.</p>
<p>Now it was Frank's turn to furrow his brow. What had he said to offend him? He ran through the two whole sentences he had spoken and came up blank. "Call you what?"</p>
<p>"Dude. Man. Whatever. I'm not—" he huffed a little bit. "I'm not a boy."<br/>-<br/>In which Frank is an out transboy who switches schools and meets Gee, a not-so-out agender. Shopping, makeovers (and make-outs), and hair-dyeing ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Your Hopes On My Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just updated this chapter after AGES! As of January 2018 I am working on this again, so stay tuned for more.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but Frank had to admit it wasn’t that great, either. There was only so much farther down the social ladder he could climb now that he was officially the kid who ate lunch alone in the bathroom. But whatever. This was what he wanted.

Or at least, he wanted to be a friendless loser more than he wanted to be a punching bag for the resident transphobes. Even though both options were pretty low down on his list of ideal situations, Frank felt that he owed to his mom to at least  _ try  _ to avoid getting beat up on the first day, so here he sat, feet propped against a graffitied bathroom door while he ate a fruit roll-up.

The original idea had been to find someplace outside to eat, because Frank hated being shut in all day and even eating alone behind the football fields was less pathetic than this, but Frank hadn’t accounted for the fact that he knew jack shit about the school’s layout when he’d hoped for that.

Frank was new to Belleville Academy this year. His last school had been full of transphobic asswipes who had seen no problems with picking on a scrawny transgender boy who’d just started on T, and Frank hadn’t had any problems fighting back. That was, until he landed himself in the emergency room with a broken arm on one side and a weepy mom on the other.

After that fiasco, Frank had been contractually obligated to let his mom enroll him at Belleville Academy instead of public school. Frank knew it was for the best; getting in fights all the time wasn’t conducive to good health, on his part or his mom’s. Even though he’d never back down from a chance to punch a bigoted motherfucker in the face, he didn’t want to put his mom through the pain of watching her son get beat up again. Besides, Belleville Academy was way easier than Belleville High, and they had shorter hours. It was basically outcast heaven; all the kids who got bullied or just couldn’t handle the carnage of public school got sent there to get a safe (albeit mediocre) education. Frank was okay with that. He didn’t need a 4.0 from America’s Top High School to start a punk band.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was kind of glad for the chance to just lay low in a new school where not everyone knew him as ‘used-to-be-a-girl’. He wanted wanted it to stay that way; he’d keep his mouth shut so nobody would hear his cracking pre-pubescent boy voice and he’d stay in the background of all his classes.

Once the bell rang he gathered his shit and winced as he stood up straight. His back ached from wearing his binder, and his lungs felt constricted. He coughed deeply a few times with his arms stretched above his head before leaving the stall. Maybe tomorrow he could find a place outside, Frank thought, wrinkling his nose at the puddles of water beneath the sinks. There were probably about five health codes being broken in here; he didn’t want to accidentally ingest a lethal pathogen when he was just trying to eat his lunch in peace.

\---

When the bell signaling the end of the day  _ finally  _ rang, Frank booked it out of US history as fast as humanly possible when wearing a binder. He'd surreptitiously packed up his things ten minutes before the bell rang, edging further and further up his seat as the minutes passed so that he'd be the first one out to the parking lot when the day ended. In his experience, hanging back longer than necessary at the end of school only lead to rude comments and aggression, and he'd rather avoid that. He half-jogged to his car, threw his shit onto the passenger seat, and started to back out as fast as possible.

Apparently some jackass in an obnoxiously red sportscar had the same idea as Frank, though, gunning their engine as they cut Frank's exit off. That wouldn't have been much of a problem had this person just driven away after that—Frank could handle asshole drivers well enough—but of  _ course _ Frank got stuck behind the jock with the world's largest social circle and worst music taste in the school. As the group of teenagers gathered around this kid's car, effectively blocking any exit route Frank could have taken, the world's shittiest music started to blare out the car's windows. Frank immediately forgot about his plan to lay low.

_ You wanna go, motherfucker?  _ Frank thought, connecting his iPod to the aux cord.  _ Fine, then. _ He selected the angriest, loudest punk album in his library and rolled the windows down, blasting the music louder than Jock McSocialCircle's. "You wanna move your fucking car, asshole?" Frank shouted, snapping his mouth shut a second later when he heard his own voice. Great. Now half the school knew he had the world's highest voice. Really Fantastic. He hunkered down in his seat as a few kids turned around, glaring and muttering. Trying to ignore the small spark of anxiety that flared up when the driver craned his neck out the window to look at him, Frank flipped him off and then locked his doors. No need to get killed so soon.

"Fuck off, loser," the kid called, turning away again. "I'll leave when I fucking feel like leaving." Frank was surprised at the lack of slurs, but he'd take what he could get. He edged his own beat-up Toyota closer and closer to the sportscar in front of him, still aggravated with the situation. Just because Sportscar Dude wasn't completely and irredeemably shitty didn't mean he wasn't getting on Frank's nerves. Finally, after a full minute of Frank upping the volume on his music and jerkily braking just short of the rear fender of his car, the kid flipped Frank off and shot out of the parking lot, shouting something that sounded suspiciously like, "stupid motherfucking faggot bitch" into the wind. Okay. Frank took back the 'not completely shitty' comment. Homophobia was not cool.

As Frank trudged in through the garage when he got home, he sincerely hoped that Sportscar McShittyMusic would just ignore Frank in the halls. Frank had known that his short stay under the shrouds of obscurity was too good to be true, but fuck. He had really been trying to stay out of trouble this time, and of course his impulsive ass immediately blew it. He felt kind of guilty; his mom had gone to all of the trouble to put him in a safe school and the first thing he did was make enemies. Shrugging his bag onto the kitchen counter, he grabbed a can of coke and popped the tab slowly, letting the air hiss out before he folded it back. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

\---

Tomorrow was not better. It started out okay; Frank turned in syllabuses, sat in the back of his classes, and ate his lunch at an empty table in the courtyard. Then, on his way to his next class after lunch, the asshole from the parking lot cornered him in a deserted stretch of hallway.

"Hey!" came a shout from behind Frank. "Asshole!" Frank tried to ignore it, because he had enough experience to know that responding to people who addressed him as 'asshole' never ended well. He just quickened his pace and tried to find his English class a little faster. "I'm talking to you, faggot," the kid snarled as he grabbed Frank's upper arm, wrenching him around to face him. A snarky comment regarding the kid's breath bubbled up to Frank's lips but he choked it back down, reminding himself that he actually wanted to go a week or two without any bruises for once.

Instead, Frank went for the second worst option. "I only date guys who aren't dealing with internalized homophobia, sorry," Frank gritted out, trying to pull his arm free. "You'll have to ask nicer than that." The guy's arm only tightened, though. 

"You got a pretty high voice, fucker," he said in a low voice. "I'd keep it down if I were you."  He shoved Frank away, who, against his better judgement, didn't let the opportunity go to waste.

"Your mom didn't want me to keep it down last night," he spat back. "She liked it pretty good when I kept it up, actually. Not something you'd know much about, though." He felt like that was a pretty good comeback and mentally patted himself on the back.

The other boy only scoffed. "Keep what up, tranny? We don't like bitches like you around here."

Frank rolled his eyes, willing himself not to punch this fucker. "Look, it's literally the second day of school. Please shut the fuck up and let me go to English." Frank turned on his heel and marched stiffly away, ignoring Bigotface's stupid comments. It was okay. He just needed to keep the moral high ground and refuse to engage. That's what the school counselors always told him at his last school, anyways: "If you don't let them get a reaction, they'll lose interest and move on." It was a load of bullshit, Frank thought, but it wouldn't  _ hurt _ him to test out the theory.

\---

The rest of the week goes by without any more confrontations with Transphobe Fucker, so Frank counts it as a win. He ended up finding the perfect place to eat his lunch, hidden in the bleachers by the football field. It was practically impossible to get into if you weren't very flexible (or small, in Frank's case), and the best part was that it was perfectly shielded from the view of any of the school's windows, so Frank could smoke on school grounds without getting caught. That Friday, he was just lighting up when he heard someone clambering through the gap in the bleachers that lead to his hideout. A million scenarios involving administrators, angry mothers, and suspension shot through Frank's mind before he caught sight of a beat-up pair of black Chuck Taylors and realized it was just a student. He took a drag of his cigarette and opened a bag of chips.

As the sound of the bag tearing open, the Chucks came to a halt. "Hello?" came an anxious voice. "Um..." The shoes shuffled before a boy walked out into Frank's line of sight. "Not to be, like, rude or anything, but, I kind of come here a lot?" Though he ended with a question mark, his message was clear: Fuck off. "Since sophomore year," he added, as if to make himself seem more credible.

Frank narrowed his eyes, looking up at the boy. He was wearing all black despite the fact that it was still pretty warm out, and his messy hair fell just past his chin. A slightly worried look was set on his features and his stance was uncertain. He didn't seem too intimidating, but Frank didn't want to push his luck. He cleared his throat and put on his best deep voice to avoid another transphobic encounter. "Sorry, man, just let me get my stuff together and I'll leave you alone." He pinched the cigarette between his lips as he haphazardly shoved everything back into his lunch bag. Now he'd have to find another place to eat. He was kind of annoyed—this was hands-down the best spot on campus; he wasn't likely to find anywhere comparable.

As Frank stood up and took another drag of his smoke, the boy in front of him shifted uncomfortably, casting a shifty gaze around and chewing his lip. "What?" Frank asked insensitively. "I'm leaving, dude. Look," he said, taking a step back. "I'm practically gone already."

The kid frowned a bit and shook his head. "No, it's just—" he broke off and shrugged, staring moodily at the concrete. Oo-kayy, Frank thought. Teenage angst—check. He couldn't really blame the kid, though. Glass houses and all that. 

"What is it, then?" Frank tried.

The boy twisted his mouth and looked at Frank, sizing him up. Frank stared right back, resisting the urge to cross his arms self-consciously in front of his chest. He remembered reading online somewhere that guys didn't do stuff like that, and that girls did, and that it was easier to pass if he just exuded an air of confidence. Sometimes, though, he really wanted to just hide his body. The boy sighed. "Don't call me that," he muttered, almost too quick to catch.

Now it was Frank's turn to furrow his brow. What had he said to offend him? He ran through the two whole sentences he had spoken and came up blank. "Call you what?"

"Dude. Man. Whatever. I'm not—" he huffed a little bit. "I'm not a  _ boy."  _

Ooh. Now Frank felt like a piece of shit. "Oh, god, I'm really, really sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume anything. I totally get it," he began, but the kid cut him off.

"You probably don't, but it's whatever."

Frank bit back the thrill of passing so well that a stranger's first impression was that he wasn't anything other than a cisgender boy before he spoke again. "No, I'm trans too! I  _ do _ get it! So like, what gender are you, if you don't mind me asking? And what's your name?" He walked back to his original place, seeing the other kid's eyes light up as Frank spoke.

"Really? That's awesome! Nobody here is trans. I'm not even  _ out," _ the kid sighed. "But I'm Gerard, or you can call me Gee if you want. And I'm like...kind of a girl but also not really? I think the term is demigirl but nobody ever gets it so I just kinda say transfeminine if I have to. But use he/him pronouns." He sat down and pulled out his lunch and a pack of cigarettes, motioning for Frank to join him. "If my parents find out I'd get disowned." His face fell as he bit into his sandwich.

Frank set his stuff back up and took another drag, exhaling slowly. "That's too bad. My mom is really good about the whole thing, but not so much my dad. He left ages ago, though, so it doesn't really matter." 

Gerard took a moment to light a cigarette and take a few drags before responding. Frank watched his lips form an 'o' around the smoke. "It's okay, mostly. Like, it sucks and all, but my brother knows and he's cool about it, so there is someone in my family who's on my side." He brushed some hair out of his face, careful not to let the cigarette touch any strands. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope. It's just me and my mom." Leaning back on the wall beside Gerard, Frank lets a small smile cross his features. Maybe he and Gerard could be really good friends. This definitely beat eating out here alone all the time. "I like it that way, though. It's good for her, too, since she doesn't have to pay for another kid. I'm kind of expensive to take care of," Frank added a little sheepishly.

"Because of all the transgender stuff?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, that and I get sick a lot. And I got beat up a lot at my last school. She has to spend a lot on medical expenses, basically." 

Ashing his cigarette, Gerard's brow crinkled a little bit. "You got beat up?"

Mentally berating himself for bringing up a subject he  _ knew  _ he hated talking about, Frank shrugged noncommittally. He hadn't meant to throw a pity party or anything, and the whole thing made him feel lame; it always seemed like people were judging him for being weak when he talked about how often he'd been injured by others. He nodded and changed the subject. "That's why my mom sent me here. Why'd you end up here?" He took a final drag of his smoke before digging it into the concrete by his hip and then flicking it to the small pile of spent cigarettes that he'd been adding to throughout the week.

"A few reasons," Gerard said vaguely, giving a shrug of his own. "Like, school was hard." Frank eyed Gerard as he shifted a bit and hunched his shoulders, but didn't pry. He'd just met the kid; it wasn't really his business anyways. He hummed in agreement and let a comfortable silence fall between them for a couple minutes.

While he and Gerard ate their respective lunches, Frank cast a curious glance over every now and then. He wasn't trying to be creepy or anything, but Gerard seemed really cool so far and he did this cute thing where he'd inspect his sandwich for the next bite he was going to take before he actually put anything in his mouth. He had really terrible posture, not necessarily in the sense that he hunched a lot, but that he just didn't seem to care if he was sat upright or not. He was curved inwards on himself and leaned over to the side a bit; he had to keep adjusting himself so he didn't fall over.

When Frank wasn't watching Gerard, he could feel Gerard's eyes on him. He wondered what he saw. Normally when people looked at him, they were searching for markers that he was trans; narrow shoulders, high voice, weak jawline, just a little bit too curvy to be a boy. Hopefully Gerard was different. Frank felt that he could trust Gerard to look at him as a regular human, though, and not just an oddity. It was nice to feel normal for once.

He was glancing over at Gerard again when he caught sight of a sketchbook hiding in his disorganized pile of binders. "Hey, you do art?" he blurted out. A slight blush rose up on his cheeks but Gerard just smiled.

"Yeah! I want to be a comic book artist," he admitted. "It's probably stupid though."

"What? No, that's so cool! Can I see some of it?"

Gerard blushed and dug the sketchbook out of the pile of books. "I'm not, like, super good or anything. But, um. Here," he mumbled, flipping through until he found a page near the middle. "Starting here they're mostly okay." He busied himself with inspecting his sandwich and smoking, occasionally glancing over at Frank as he looked through Gerard's sketches.

Frank was blown away by Gerard's work. Even though there were plenty of unfinished or messy drawings, each of them perfectly captured an emotion or a sense of movement. All of them were so beautiful. He stopped on a full-page drawing of a girl climbing out of the ground in a forest, twigs and moss clinging to her form. Behind her the woods glinted with eyes that maliciously watched her struggle, and the trees leaned jaggedly in, almost grasping at her with their branches. The muted colors were added in broad sweeping motions on the paper, leading the eye back to the girl's desperate expression. "Wow," he said, looking up at Gerard and back down at the drawing. "This one is incredible. I love it." He stared at it for a little while longer, drinking in all the detail. He could feel Gerard watching him. "Seriously. This is so  _ good." _

"You think so?" Gerard asked humbly, stubbing out his cigarette and flicking it into Frank's pile."

_ "Yes," _ Frank replied emphatically. "And you said you weren't that great? You could totally be a comic book artist!" He handed Gerard his sketchbook back, a little reluctant to let the drawing go.

His cheeks red, Gerard smiled. "Thank you," he said, touched. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he tore the sketch out and handed it to Frank. "Here, you can keep it."

Frank's mouth just about dropped open. "What?! You can't give me that!"

"No, I want you to have it! Like, art is supposed to make people feel things, and, you know, you looked at it and you felt something. So you should keep it," Gerard repeated. "I wasn't going to do anything with it."

Frank reached out and took the page reverently, feeling a new sense of respect for Gerard. He was willing to let a practical stranger keep his art just because they felt something when they looked at it. Had Frank been in Gerard's place, he would have kept something so beautiful all for himself. "Thank you," he said simply, carefully placing it inside his English binder where it would be safe, taking another moment to admire it before he closed the cover. It was  _ his  _ now; he felt a small thrill at the thought.

Gerard's voice jogged him back to reality. "Lunch is going to end soon, but you could come over to my house after school? If you want to," he added quickly.

Frank just nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds great!"

"Cool. Do you wanna meet me outside the front lobby after school?"

Frank smiled. "Yeah, sure."

\---

At the end of the day, Frank was a little anxious to meet with Gerard. He'd texted his mom to let her know where he'd be, and he and Gerard had sorted out the details on how they'd get to his house; Gerard would ride with Frank and give him directions, since he usually walked and didn't have a car. Still, he worried that at some point in the second half of the day Gerard had come to his senses and realized that Frank was a loser and regretted giving him his art.

Throughout the day Frank had periodically looked at Gerard's drawing, safely tucked in the inside cover of his binder. Each time was a exciting as the first; he felt that he'd never tire of looking at each perfect line, each sweep of color; the detail of her face. He felt honored and giddy that Gerard had decided he deserved to keep something so great. He felt a certain closeness to Gerard despite only having known him for an hour. He hoped that they would be friends; After coming out, Frank had lost his closest friends and he was sick of feeling lonely.

After standing still in the midst of the rush out the front doors, Gerard's dark figure appeared and Frank perked up, waving and smiling. Gerard pushed through the sea of students to stand by Frank, sporting a smile of his own.

"Hey," he grinned. "Ready to go?"

"Have been since I got here this morning." Frank smiled right back at Gerard as he walked out into the parking lot. "My car is right here," he said, heading to the first row of the parking lot. After the incident with Asswipe Sportscar, he'd decided there was really no way to avoid conflict, and in extension no reason  _ not _ to park right by him and blast music every afternoon.

Once they got in Frank's car, he hooked his phone up to the aux cord and then handed it to Gerard. "Here, you can pick something," he said. "Just make it loud. I've been pissing this kid off all week with my music and I don't wanna back down now." After scrolling for a few moments, Gerard settled on the Misfits and cranked the volume all the way up. Frank and Gerard collapsed in a fit of giggles when they saw the look the jerk in the sportscar shot them.

"Oh, god, he looks like someone shit on the hood of his car," Gerard said. "Man, Nick must be really pissed he can't do anything about it."

"What do you mean?" Frank asked, starting to back up and flipping the kid—Nick—off in the process.

Gerard shot him a funny look. "The school has a really strict no-tolerance policy on fighting and bullying," he explained. "Because of the 'vulnerable nature of our student body.'" He put air quotes around the last bit and rolled his eyes. "I just assumed that you'd know that. Since, y'know..." he trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Hm." Frank pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, staring ahead at the road. "Guess my mom didn't mention that to me." Frank had figured that the teachers would be more vigilant about stuff like that in a small school full of kids who'd already been dealt a shit hand, but to have it phrased so bluntly was a bit of a blow to his pride. "Whatever. Anything I need to know before I meet your parents?" he asked, tactfully changing subjects.

Gerard sat up straighter, nodding. "Yes, actually. Don't out me, obviously. Don't bring up LGBT issues. Probably don't tell them you're trans. Don't ask about the decorations. Be polite. You can call them Mr. and Mrs. Way. Um, just be, like, a really good kid around them and don't get in any real conversations with them and you should be okay. With any luck you won't have to actually talk to them much at all." He blushed a little. "Sorry if that's like, a lot."

Frank just nodded and turned a corner as Gerard indicated it. "Nah, it's okay. I can be polite when I need to be."

Gerard smiled at Frank, then pointed out the window at one of the houses coming up. "That's my house. You can park in the driveway."

Frank felt a small inkling of trepidation wiggle in the pit of his stomach as he waited for Gerard to unlock the door. What if his parents realized Frank was trans and didn't want him hanging out with Gerard? As the door swung open and Gerard gestured for Frank to follow him inside, his worries were swept away as he caught sight of the house. He suddenly understood why Gerard had warned him about the decor. Nearly every surface was covered in strange objects; dolls, animal bones, small paintings of indeterminate subjects that gave off a spooky air. Frank turned his head around and raised an eyebrow at Gerard, who blushed.

"Sorry," he mouthed, then greeted his parents. "Mom, Dad, this is Frank. Frank, these are my parents." Frank smiled and waved his hand a bit.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Way," he said, trying to make his voice sound masculine.

Gerard's mom smiled down at him. "Hi, honey, I'm Donna. Have you had a good week at school? Are you new there?"

He barely had a chance to mumble out a "yes, ma'am," before Gerard was ushering him into the basement. 

"We'll be down here if you need anything," Gerard called out behind him. "Tell Mikey not to bother us."

Frank followed Gerard down the stairs and into an extremely messy room. 

"Sorry about the mess," Gerard apologized, kicking halfheartedly at an empty bag of chips. "I'd have cleaned some if I'd known you were coming." He swept a few comic books and crumpled up pieces of paper off the couch and onto a side table, turning on the TV. "Do you want to play some video games?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Frank answered, taking in the room. Looking past all of the junk scattered about, it was an okay place to hang out. The walls were covered in posters and drawings, and there was a CD player set up across the room with an expensive-looking set of speakers connected. A crate full of CDs sat beside them with even more spread out on the floor, and Frank could see some of his own favorite artists in the mix. A bookshelf full of books and comics stood in one corner, and Frank could see tons of art supplies all over the place.

"The basement is mostly my place," Gerard said as he powered the console on. "Mikey hangs out in here a lot of the time too, though, so a lot of this shit is his. My room is through there." He pointed at a door Frank hadn't even noticed; it blended into the walls, plastered as it was with drawings. A truly epic drawing depicting someone walking through Gerard's door only to be electrocuted was tacked up on top of everything else. Gerard saw him looking. "I drew that years ago to keep Mikey out."

Frank laughed. "Did it work?"

"Nope. He goes in all the time and steals my crap anyways." Gerard shrugged. "I don't care that much. I honestly don't know what I'd do without the stupid fucker."

"I can tell you love him deeply," Frank joked, picking up a controller. "Sometimes I wish I had someone like that. Not a sibling, necessarily, but. You know." He shrugged. "I lost a lot of friends when I came out."

Gerard sat down beside him, elbowing his side affectionately. "Hey, I can be your friend," he said, starting the game. "Right after I whoop your ass in Grand Theft Auto."

He and Frank played video games for about half an hour; Gerard won most of the time, but Frank emerged victorious a few times out of pure luck. On these occasions, he would fall over Gerard's lap on his back with his arms over his head, laughing maniacally. "Ha! I beat you, fucker!  _ I  _ am the master at GTA!" a declaration which would be disproved in the next round, when Gerard would soundly defeat him and then throw his head back laughing as Frank tried ineffectively to punch him.

Frank had just been annihilated in the last round and was trying to get Gerard into a headlock when they heard the basement door shut. He took advantage of Gerard's distraction to get an arm around his neck while the sound of a pair of voices floated down to them. A tall, thin kid led the way, a small smile on his lips while someone behind him chatted away excitedly.

"Hey, Gee," the tall kid said, plopping down beside Frank. "Who's this?" 

Frank disentangled himself from around Gerard's neck, sliding back onto the cushion. "I'm Frank. Gerard's friend."

"Cool. I'm Mikey. That's Pete," he said, pointing to a short kid who Frank recognized from his last school. Frank nodded at Pete, who smiled and waved back at him. Gerard, however, seemed irritated.

Shifting around to glare at Mikey, Gerard huffed. "You bring a friend over and take him into  _ my _ room? Not cool, dude." 

Mikey shrugged. "I hang out here all the time. It's not like I was supposed to know you spontaneously made a friend." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a rumpled-looking bag of chips. "Besides, I got your favorite snack. I bet Frank doesn't even care. Do you?" Mikey asked, turning to look at Frank.

"Um," Frank said eloquently, glancing from Gerard to Mikey and then to Pete. "Not really? I mean, I kinda know Pete from my old school, so..." He looked apologetically at Gerard. "It's cool if you want to do something else, though." Gerard looked at Frank, concerned. 

"He's from your old school?" he prodded. His expression seemed a little more intense than the question warranted, and then Frank got it.  _ Oh,  _ he thought.  _ Gerard's looking out for me. _ Pushing down the warm fuzzy feeling that arose at the realization, Frank nodded.

"Yeah, he's cool," he responded, trying to convey the proper measure of 'he isn't a transphobic asshole' through his expression. Gerard held his gaze for a moment longer before giving in.

“Fine, whatever, you guys can stay. Just don’t mess my shit up.” He leaned over and grabbed the chips out of Mikey’s hand, tearing the bag open and looking inside consideringly. “A little crushed, but I’ll accept your gift as penance,” he sniffed. Mikey just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” he said before turning to Frank. “So you know Pete?”

Frank tilted his head, glancing at Pete, who was sorting through a stack of video games on the floor beside the console. “Well, we weren’t close or anything, but he was always nice to me before I moved schools.” In fact, Pete was one of the few guys on the soccer team who ever stood up for Frank when he was getting ganged up on, but he didn’t feel the need to divulge that information. After all, he’d only just met Mikey. He felt like he’d filled his quota for oversharing at lunch.

Pete spoke up from where he sat on the carpet. “Yeah, Frank’s pretty cool. We had gym together freshman year. Not much of an athlete, though,” he added with a laugh. “I seem to recall he always walked the mile.” 

Frank rolled his eyes. “Unlike you jocks, I have better things to spend time on than wasting my breath running around a field all day.”

“Like what?” Gerard teased. “Smoking behind the bleachers?” He smirked and poked Frank’s arm. “I bet your lung capacity is absolute shit and that’s why you sucked at gym.”

Pretending to act all aghast that Gerard would even suggest such a thing, Frank drew himself up and crossed his arms. “I’ll have you know that my physical prowess is matched by none,” he said haughtily. “I simply choose to channel my talents elsewhere. Like video games. And guitar.”

Gerard giggled, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips and lighting up his face. “Well, I hope you’re better at guitar than video games, because otherwise you might want to try your hand at football.”

Frank collapsed in a fit of giggles at that. “I could ream your ass at Halo, okay,” he said. “And besides, guitar is like, my thing. I  _ live  _ for music.”

Gerard nodded sagely, toasting him with a potato chip. “Agreed. Except, I can’t play anything,” he added sheepishly. “Just like, sing or whatever.” He shrugged, and Frank found himself imaging what Gerard’s voice might sound like, and what words he might choose to sing.

“You guys are weird,” Mikey said in an affectionate monotone, redirecting Frank’s attention. “Anyways, Pete and I just wanted to drop our stuff off. We’re gonna head over to Gabe’s.”

Gerard’s gaze sharpened in concern. “Don’t have too much fun,” he warned. “Last time you were over there you came back drunk in the middle of the night. I don’t know  _ why  _ Mom is letting you go again.”

“Probably something to do with Pete. He looks like a responsible dude. Doesn’t he?” Mikey asked, and Pete made what Frank assumed was supposed to be a responsible face, but came across as a leer.

“Yeah, sure,” Gerard scoffed. “Just… Be responsible. Don’t like, drive drunk or anything.” His face twisted into a worried frown. “You know… Be safe.”

Mikey rolled his eyes as he and Pete walked back upstairs. “Okay, Mom, geez,” he said, but the words lacked venom. Some nonverbal agreement must have passed between him and Gerard, because Mikey’s face softened and Gerard let his shoulders relax.

Pausing at the top of the steps, Mikey called back down: “Don’t be stupid while we’re out,” and the door shut.

Frank straightened himself out and grabbed Gerard’s chip bag, wondering what had passed between them. He was curious, but at the same time, it wasn’t his business, so he settled back into the couch.

“So, that’s your brother? He seems cool.”

Gerard shrugged noncommittally. “Eh, he’s okay,” he mumbled, but a smile tugged at his mouth, a few crumbs clinging on from the chips. Frank almost reached out to wipe them away, then thought better of it. “Anyways, do you wanna go to the record store or something? Or there’s this nice coffee shop by the lake if you wanna go there. I think there are a few cool shops in that area.”

Frank perked up, almost surprised that Gerard wanted to do cool stuff with him. It’d been so long since he’d had a friend to fuck around town with. Then he checked the time and deflated a little. “Aw, I’d love to, but I have to be back home in like twenty minutes,” he said. “I won’t have time to get back if we go out.” His mouth twisted into a frown. “Sorry.”

Gerard just shrugged. “Hey, no worries. We can stay here. You want a snack or something? We’ve got food upstairs if you’re hungry.”

Frank accepted a poptart, and Gerard pulled out the coffeemaker and poured himself two cups at, like, five in the afternoon, what the hell, but when Frank made fun of him for it, Gerard just shrugged, saying, “When the caffeine calls, you answer.”

Bursting out laughing, Frank nearly choked on his poptart. “What? That’s not even a saying! And it’s  _ five o’clock!  _ Who drinks coffee this late, seriously?”

“Hey, a caffeine addiction is an addiction like any other! If I lose sleep, so be it. It just gives me more time to do other shit.”

Frank rolled his eyes at Gerard’s logic and grabbed his coffee mug, lifting an eyebrow at the drink before taking a critical sip. “Wow, that’s bitter,” he spluttered, shoving the mug away. “God, how do you drink that shit?”

“The coffee authorities put you through an intense training regimen. It’s arduous, but worth it,” Gerard said airily, taking a deep sip. “Mmm, delicious.” He smirked at Frank from over the rim of his cup.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer until Frank had to leave. “Thanks for having me over,” he said as he grabbed his bag. 

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Gerard replied. He followed Frank to the front door, avoiding his eyes. Just as they reached the door, he stopped them. “Hey, you have a phone, right?” 

A jolt of excitement swooped through Frank’s stomach. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. None of his old friends had kept in contact with him since he switched schools; his phone’s radio silence only reinforced his loneliness. 

“Well, um, d’you want my number?” Gerard rushed out. “I mean, if you don’t, that’s cool, just. I mean—”

“No, yeah, of course I do!” Frank cut him off. He smiled even wider. “Here, let me put you in my contacts--” he broke off as he realized his phone wasn’t in his back pocket. “Shit. I must have left my phone at home.”

Gerard turned to a table covered in old photographs, digging through a drawer until he emerged with a sharpie. “That’s fine, I can just write it down for you.”

Frank looked around for paper that Gerard could use, but didn’t see any, and wondered how he could write without stationery. Then his confusion cleared up when Gerard grabbed his wrist, stretching Frank’s arm out.

The tip of the marker dug gently into the flesh of his forearm, Gerard’s fingers looped around his wrist, cool but gentle as he wrote. His cheeks were pinkish with a slight blush, and his tongue poked out between his teeth as he concentrated. “There,” he said when he’d finished, stepping back. His fingers remained on Frank’s wrist for a moment longer before he released his arm, blushing a little deeper.

Frank examined the uneven numbers slanting across his skin, making sure he could read them. They were legible, but just barely. “Cool,” he said, grinning. “Thanks again. I’ll text you when I get home.” 

\---

Frank collapsed on his bed and dug his phone out from between his mattress and the wall. He entered a new contact with Gerard’s information, then shot him a text.

_ hey, its frnk. thx again for letting me come ovr  _

He stuck his phone in his back pocket and rolled onto his back, a grin lighting up his features. A real fucking friend. Well—he didn’t want to jump the gun. He and Gerard had barely met, after all. But something about the guy just felt right to Frank; their personalities just meshed. Gerard seriously beat moping through the school year alone. His phone buzzed.

_ no prob frankie :-)  _

Frank fought back a bemused giggle—a smiley with a nose, seriously—and texted him back, starting a conversation that stretched long into the night. Not about anything in particular; more about everything: music, school, gender, culture. Anything and everything that came up. It felt like a meeting of two halves of the same mind that had separated long ago. It was refreshing, exhilarating, and calming all at once.

For the first time in ages, Frank felt good—like, seriously happy—about his life.

\---

The next Monday at school, Frank craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of dark hair through the halls. In their conversation the night before, Gerard had sent Frank a cryptic reference to makeup and asshole douchebags who made fun of him, and Frank had replied with a promise to make Gerard look so badass that people like Nick wouldn’t  _ dream _ of making fun of him.

This morning, he’d dug through teach and every drawer of his bathroom, searching for the eyeliner he knew was hiding in there somewhere. Seriously, he used to wear it all the time to shows—he still did, actually, so  _ where  _ was it? Finally, after nearly ten minutes of tearing his room apart, he remembered he’d put it in his guitar case, and emerged triumphant, eyeliner pencil in hand.

Now, as he walked through the crowds, he finally caught sight of Gerard, seated on a bench with headphones on, sketchbook on his lap.

“Hey,” Frank said loudly, sitting down beside Gerard. He tapped his shoulder gently, and Gerard started, fumbling with his mp3 player to turn off his music. Frank caught sight of a Smiths album and smiled to himself.

“Sorry,” Gerard said, shoving his belongings into his messenger bag. “I guess I didn’t hear you.” He smiled nervously, eyes flicking up to Frank’s face and then down at the floor. Frank could guess what he was worried about.

He reached into his own bag and pulled out the eyeliner pencil. “So, I brought this,” he began. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because I offered. If you aren’t, like, ready to do this, it’s totally okay.” Frank remembered how nerve-wracking the beginning of his own transition had been. Amazing, sure. Incredible, fulfilling, and exciting, definitely. But the weight of the judgement of his peers was as terrifying as anything, and he didn’t want Gerard to jump into anything just because of Frank. 

Making eye contact with Frank, Gerard shook his head. “No, this is something I want to do. Have wanted to do. For ages.” He laughed shakily. “I guess I’m just a little nervous? But seriously,” he quickly added. “Don’t worry.” He smiled and started towards the restrooms, and Frank quickly followed. “I have like, no idea how to apply eyeliner, though.”

“No worries,” Frank assured him. “I am a master at the artfully smudged look. You’ll look badass when I’m done with you.” 

Frank directed Gerard to the bathroom counter, where they dropped their bags before getting down to business. Uncapping the pencil, Frank first wiped it off on a paper towel—he didn’t think Gerard cared that much about hygiene, if his bedroom was anything to judge by, but Frank didn’t want to be responsible for him getting pink eye.

Then, with Gerard’s leaning back against the counter, Frank stepped up in front of him, deciding how best to begin. Eye makeup was easy enough to apply on himself, but suddenly the introduction of someone else’s face made it that much harder. “Um,” he began awkwardly. “I don’t usually do other people’s makeup, but I’ll try my best.” 

After another moment of consideration, staring intently at Gerard’s gold-flecked eyes, Frank leaned in and placed one hand under Gerard’s chin, resting the other on his cheek. He could feel his breath mingling with Gerard’s as he worked, could smell the mint of Gerard’s toothpaste. Dragging the pencil across Gerard’s lashline, Frank watched the gentle hazel of Gerard’s iris take on a more intense hue, the black emphasizing it, boldening it, giving his face a fiercer look, as if he’d just walked off the pages of a magazine with his combat boots and ripped black jeans.

As he smudged the eyeliner with his thumb, Gerard looked back down from the ceiling, his eyes meeting Frank’s for a split second as Frank moved back in with the eyeliner pencil. “Can you, like, look up?” Frank asked. It felt like his voice was too loud, shattering the still silence of the bathroom. 

“Oh, yeah,” Gerard replied, tipping back his head.

Frank rolled his eyes. “No, not your whole head. Just your eyeballs.”

Gerard blushed sheepishly. “Oops. Guess I’m not used to this whole makeup thing.”

Frank giggled quietly, then stepped back in to draw along Gerard’s other eye, careful to match the two sides. Gerard’s mouth was opened slightly as he looked up, and Frank idly thought how amazing a deep pink lipgloss would look on those lips before moving his gaze back to Gerard’s eyes, only to realize Gerard was watching him, as well.

“Eyes up,” Frank repeated softly, and gently swiped the pencil one last time before stepping back.

“All done?” Gerard asked, trying to twist around to look.

“Not quite yet,” Frank replied, catching his shoulder before he could see. “I just have to smudge it a little more.” He leaned in close, only inches away from Gerard’s face as he finished the look, then smiled broadly as he took the whole effect in. “Ok, you can turn around now. You look amazing.”

Gerard licked his lips, then bit his bottom lip in anticipation as he turned to the mirror. He spent a moment twisting his head around, taking it in, before a wide grin spread across his features. “Holy shit, Frankie,” Gerard laughed. “I fucking love it!” He turned to Frank, absolutely shining with happiness. “Holy shit!” he repeated.

Frank grinned too. “I told you you’d look fucking badass.” 

“I do, don’t I?” Gerard giggled. “Oh my god. Frank, I’m so fucking glad I met you. You are amazing.” He stepped in and pulled Frank into a bone-crushing hug, and if Frank heard a little sniff as Gerard held on, he ignored it, simply hugging back before stepping apart.

Gerard’s eyes were bright and his cheeks were pink, and Frank couldn’t help but smile even wider and pull Gerard in for another quick hug. “I’m glad I met you too. Now come on, let’s show the world the real Gerard Way.”

As Frank and Gerard walked out of the bathroom, the flow of students had grown as the beginning of the day approached. Frank was a little nervous on Gee's behalf; in his experience, pushing the boundaries on gender never ended well. But maybe the school's policy on bullying was a strong as Gerard had said it was, because most glances that come their way were appreciative; only Nick and his friends sneered at them, and most people didn't even take notice. 

"Do you want to hang out with some of my other friends before class starts?" Gerard asked. "We usually meet in the art room before school." Gerard was still grinning about the eyeliner; Frank could hear it in his voice.

“Hell yeah I do,” Frank agreed, finding Gerard’s happiness contagious. As they walked towards the fine arts wing, Gerard briefed Frank on his friend group.

"So you already know me, obviously, and Ray is pretty easy to recognize because of his hair, and Bob's this quiet blond dude. He seems kind of intimidating at first, but he's nice. Ray's cool, too. He knows a lot about music. I think you'll like them." Frank hoped they would like him, or else he'd be out a friend group. 

Once the art room door came into sight, Frank paused. "Hey," he said to Gerard, touching his arm to slow him down. "Do they know about your gender? I don't want to slip up and mention something you don't want them knowing." He glanced up at Gerard, struck again by the way the eyeliner accentuated his appearance. 

Gerard just smiled. "Don't worry, they both know and are cool with it. I mean, the eyeline might be a surprise, but it won’t be a big deal.” Then they entered the art room, where Gerard led him to a table where two juniors sat, bent over a worksheet.

The blond one, who Frank thought must be Bob, nodded at them. "Hey, Gee—” he broke off with a grin. “Hey, nice makeup!" He held up a hand and high-fived Gerard before looking down at Frank. "Is this is the dude you’ve been going on about?" His tone sounded nonplussed, and Frank shrank in on himself a little bit. He didn't know what Bob had been expecting, but it obviously wasn't a short loser. He glanced at Gerard, unsure of how to react, before the other guy butted in.

"Don't be too hard on the him, Bob," Ray said. "Gerard did warn us he would be short."

Frank’s eyes narrowed and he glanced up at Gerard in amusement. "Oh, you 'warned them I would be short'? I can tell My personality really made an impression.”

Gerard rolled his eyes at his friends. "Come on, guys, I said loads of stuff besides that."

Ray exchanged a glance with Bob before smiling. "We know. Anyways, did you do the math homework? I fell asleep before I could get to it."

"You know better than to hope I would have done math," Gerard groaned, plopping into a chair. He gestured for Frank to take the seat beside him. “I loathe math. Ugh.” He shuddered. “Absolutely disgusting.”

Frank giggled, but Ray just sighed. "I should have made friends with people who actually care about academics. Then I wouldn't have this problem." Frank bit back a smart remark as Ray pulled out a dreadfully disorganized binder and pulled out a crumpled-up sheet of half-completed math homework.

"You can copy my answers if you want,” Frank said, taking pity on him. “We went through this stuff last year at my old school, so," he shrugged and pulled it out of his folder, offering it to Ray. 

"You rock," Ray said with feeling, taking the sheet from him and copying answers with gusto.

Gerard leaned over and nudged Frank with his elbow, a smile sparkling in his eyes. "You know you're going to be the homework source now, right? These two never do any work, and now you've just given them even more reason not to."

Bob scoffed and tossed a paintbrush at Gerard. "I do so do my work. I'll have you know that I got a seventy in the homework category in band last year."

"That's because you turned in fake practice logs every now and then. That doesn't count for anything." Gerard tossed the brush back, nailing Bob's cheek. "Try telling your transcript that you do your homework."

Bob flipped him off. “You’re one to talk.” He turned to Frank. "You mind if I copy those answers when Ray's done?"

"Go ahead."

Frank could tell that he’d get along with Ray and Bob. They seemed like cool dudes; both were into music, which was a conversation Frank had no trouble taking part in, and even when Frank was lost when the other three started talking about other topics, they still made an effort to include him. It was nice. Refreshing to actually feel like a part of a group.

When he and Gerard left for English, Nick sulked past them with a sour look on his face and knocked his shoulder roughly against Gerard's, sending him tumbling into Frank. 

"Whoa," Frank said, catching Gerard's arms to steady him. "You okay?"

Gerard shook his head and glared down the hall at Nick, who was stalking away to terrorize some underclassmen. "Yeah, I’m fine. Jesus, what's up his ass?”

\---

In the class before lunch, Frank felt a familiar ball of tension curl up in the pit of his stomach. Even though he felt secure in saying he had friends now, he didn’t know where to sit at lunch. He hadn’t seen Ray, Bob, or Gerard until he’d accidentally invaded Gerard’s hideout; he had no idea where to begin looking for them, and searching the cafeteria alone was just looking for trouble.

To avoid the embarrassment of a solitary trip to the cafeteria, Frank decided to hang around his and Gerard's locker bank and hope Gee'd had the same idea, or else he was screwed. Relief swept over him as he caught sight of Gerard's messy black hair at his locker.

"Hey, Gee," Frank said, leaning up against the locker by Gerard's. "Not to like, impose or anything, but do you mind if I eat with you for lunch?”

Gerard shut his locker and smiled. "Dude, it’s totally fine! I was gonna ask you to come anyways. I sit with Ray and Bob outside. Except for sometimes, you know, I'll sit behind the bleachers if I'm having a bad day or whatever." He shrugged. "Come on.”

When they reached the table, Ray and Bob were already there. Ray had his phone out, showing something to Bob, who was laughing hysterically.

"Gerard, come over here, you've gotta see this," Bob choked out. "You too, Frank." He leaned back to give them some room and motioned for Ray to replay the video that he had pulled up. "That's Nick Santos!" Bob collapsed in a fit of laughter that Frank wouldn't have expected from him after meeting him in the art room. Interested in what could make Bob break his stoic exterior, Frank leaned in next to Gerard, squinting at the tiny screen of Ray’s phone.

The lighting in the video was terrible, but he could tell that it was filmed at a party. The camera zoomed in on a couple of guys, obviously wasted off their asses, holding red cups. Frank just barely made out Nick's face. He didn't recognize the other guy. Both of them swayed along to whatever song was playing, then the second guy started grinding on Nick, running his hands all over his body and drawing himself in close to Nick’s face.

"Damn," he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Bet he hated that.”

Gerard laughed. "Guess that explains why he’s pissed, with a video like this making the rounds."

Ray brought their attention back to the video. "Just wait for it."

The guy was still grinding on Nick, who stood stock-still for a moment before launching into motion. Frank expected a punch to be thrown—then he grabbed the guy's face, his solo cup knocking against his temple and spilling beer over the both of them, and pulled him into what looked like the world's least-satisfying kiss ever. The video cut off a moment later.

"Huh," Frank said. "He's a shit kisser. Who's the other guy?"

Ray put his phone away and Frank and Gerard settled back around the table, pulling out their lunches.

"Someone from the public school. Isn't that crazy? Who would have thought  _ Nick Santos  _ would be kissing guys?"

"I'm not all that surprised, to be honest," Gerard said. "A lot of really homophobic people are actually just in denial."

Bob chuckled again. "I know, but still. He's probably shitting bricks right now." 

"Do you know who took the video?" Frank asked.

Ray shrugged. "No idea. Apparently some people pooled together some cash to pay the other guy to get Nick drunk and see if he would kiss him. It was probably one of them."

"How much?"

"Like, sixty dollars."

Frank widened his eyes. That was a lot of money just to see someone make out, homophobe or not. Gerard didn't seem to appreciate it, though.

"Doesn't that seem wrong to you? Like, manipulative or whatever?"

Bob shrugged. "It's funny, that's for sure."

"Well, yeah, but like, it's obviously not something Nick's comfortable with, and then someone decides to get him drunk and show the whole school? It seems gross." He crossed his arms.

Ray gaped at him. "I can't believe you're defending the asshole," Ray said. "It isn't like he hasn't given you enough grief over not subscribing to gender roles. I'd be fucking glad to see the video if I were you. But whatever," he added hastily as Gerard threw a glare at him. "Yes, it's manipulative and gross. But also funny and justified. In my opinion, at least."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess."

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed as everyone ate their lunch. Frank felt glad that his initial plans to wait out the year as social recluse had been stopped by Gerard's appearance. He glanced up, remembering their first meeting and how Gerard's eating habits had amused Frank, wondering if he always inspected his food so closely.

When he caught sight of Gerard, though, he was already looking at Frank. They made awkward eye contact for a moment, Gerard's gaze locked on Frank's before Frank broke it by looking down at his food. He dumped his fruit snacks out on his paper bag and arranged them in rainbow order to keep himself occupied, only glancing up again once the colorful dinosaurs were organized to his satisfaction. Seeing that Gerard was focused on his sandwich—taking small, calculated bites—he relaxed. A strange feeling swirled in Frank's stomach as he chewed on a blue-raspberry flavored stegosaurus. He didn't know what to make of it.


End file.
